face of her mother,
whose chalky paleness was covered by a flame of blushes.

"Ira!" she exclaimed, "forgive. May God forgive me."

Unable to utter more than these words she dropped on her knees
and touched the yellow cushion of the low sofa with her head. She
seemed shattered, annihilated. Then Irene grew cold again. Sober
thought and strong will shone in, her eyes. She bent over her
mother, placed her delicate hand on her shoulder, and began
almost with the movement of a guardian:

"Mamma, I beg you not to despair, and above all not to torture
yourself with that which you consider a reproach and a sin. Never
say to your children 'forgive,' for we cannot be your judges--I,
least of all. You have ever been kind to us and as loving as an
angel; we have lived with you; we love you--I most of all.
Remember at all times that a loyal heart is near you and--a
kindred one--for it is the heart of a daughter. You must stand
erect, have will, think out something, frame something, have
decision, save yourself."

Looking into her mother's face with a strange smile, she added:

"And save me, perhaps, for I, too, am a poor, unwise creature; I
know not myself what to do."

Malvina raised her head, straightened herself, and rose from her
knees slowly.

"True," whispered she. "You--you, so long and so earnestly have I
wished to speak--of you--and had not the courage."

"Well, let us speak now," said Irene.

And again putting her hand under her mother's arm, she led her to
the ottoman, which stood in the tempered lamplight.

"The door is bolted, no one can disturb us; we will have a talk,
a long one. Only we must be reasonable, calm. Look at things and
ourselves clearly; know definitely what we want; try to bring our
plans into action; know how to wish."

At these last words she imitated the nasal voice of Baron Emil,
laughed at it, and dropped down on the carpet before Malvina had
seated herself on the low ottoman. Irene, taking her mother's
hands in her own, fixed her eyes on her eyes, and began:

"Mamma, if you wish I shall become very soon the wife of the
famous Mediaevalist, Baron Emil, and we shall all three of us go
to America--beyond the seas--"

"Oh, no! no! no!" exclaimed Malvina, who bent toward her
daughter, and put her arms around the young woman with such
terror as if she were shielding her from a falling house. "Not
that! Not that! Something different--entirely different."

At that moment some impulsive